Here
by Permanent Rose
Summary: No one's ever truly cared about April. That is, until Will comes along. Will/April


_A/N: April and Will. Yeah, we all love Will and Emma, but there's some undeniable chemistry between April and Will. This fic isn't particularly romantic---more on the angsty side. _

_I hope you enjoy; let me know what you think!_

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When she tells Will she's coming to look at his apartment, she has no intention whatsoever of renting it. Hell, April couldn't even afford to live in a cardboard box.

April just wants an excuse to see Will, and she has a different motive than usual, when she's aiming for a one night drunken hook up.

Because Will's different.

She hasn't been able to get him out of her mind—not since they went their separate ways after the invitational. It was a strange feeling for her, at first, that longing she felt for Will.

Because April's never felt that sort of longing before. Probably because no one has truly cared about her before.

April's father left when she was four. She doesn't remember him. He's just a face in her memory, really, and that's the reason that April can safely say she's never missed him. Sure, she's missed the idea of a father over the years, but as for the man himself, he means nothing to her.

April's mother was there, but just barely. And in some ways, April thinks that was worse than her father's absence. April doesn't remember much about her childhood; she's somehow managed to block those scarring memories. But what she does remember is being afraid. She was afraid of her mother, when she drank too much and slapped April across her trembling face. She was scared of all the men her mother would bring home, especially the ones who would touch April in a way she knew they should not.

But mostly, April was afraid of being alone.

She remembers those nights, the ones her mother would turn on the TV to the first available channel.

"You can watch for as long as you'd like, sweetie," her mother would tell her, applying another coat of lipstick. "I'll be home soon."

Except she never was. Because April would wait and wait, counting the hours by the half hour intervals of when the shows aired, until her heavy eyes could hardly stay open. She'd crawl into bed, pulling the blanket snugly up to her neck, trying to push away that terrible feeling of loneliness and fear.

She'd wake up in the middle of the night, panicked from a night terror, with wet sheets clinging to her legs. And she'd call for her mother—a mother who was supposed to be right down the hall from her. A mother who was supposed to keep her safe.

But of course, she never came.

She'd change into a dry nightgown, fighting tears as she crawled back into bed, trying to avoid the spot where she lost control of her bladder.

It wasn't until high school that someone began to care about April. That someone was Lillian Adler, director of the McKinley High Glee club, who was the first to recognize April's amazing vocal talents. For the first time April could remember, she felt happy, confident, and hopeful.

April began to crave attention after that, but she looked for it in all the wrong places. With her pretty face and curvaceous body, those high school boys couldn't keep their hands off of her. And she didn't care if all of it was fake. She wanted to be touched, she wanted to feel loved, even if it were only in fleeting moments.

When she dropped out of high school, she wasn't thinking about her future or the consequences of her hasty decision. She was thinking about the sweet way her boyfriend told her he loved when they made love in the bed of his pick up truck and the unending attention she'd bask in once they made it big on Broadway.

But the images of glamour and glitz faded all too quickly. April found herself alone once again, pregnant with a set of twins (She didn't know who the father was, and she wouldn't have been surprised if two different men had sired the fetuses growing inside of her.)

When her twins were born, she made the first selfless decision in her life. She gave them up for adoption, giving them the chance at life April's mother had failed to give her.

Now she's alone once again, curled up on the couch of Will Schuester's apartment. It's a nice apartment, and it is a shame that April would never be able to afford it.

She can hear Will shuffling around in his bedroom down the hall, and she feels lonelier than ever. She'd even take Buddy right now, that old wrinkly bastard, if it meant she had a warm body beside her. And she hates herself for that—they way she's taught herself to settle for everything that is so god damn inferior over the years.

Because really, all she wants is Will, or at least someone like Will.

Because he cares.

He cares so much that he won't give her what she wants. He cares so much that _his _heart breaks every time _she _messes up.

And damn it, it feels so good to have someone care. And though she's just a washed up slut, she knows—she knows deep down inside—that she deserves that.

And for the first time, April feels that might be starting to care too.

xxxxxx

Will should've known that April would pull something like this. Why is it, he wonders, that he always ends up in compromising situations with women like this?

He has to admit, though, he's kind of glad for April's company. He's not used to having the apartment all to himself, and he hasn't had a good night sleep in weeks. The emptiness of the apartment has settled into that deep pit in his heart.

He misses Terri—maybe not Terri herself, but the idea of Terri. He's not going to lie, this whole being on his own thing is a heck of lot harder than he imagined it would be.

He peeks out the door into the living room; for some reason, he feels inclined to check on April. She might look a tough little cookie on the outside, but he knows she's more fragile than she lets on.

She looks especially small, curled up in a tiny ball on the sofa. She lets out a small whimper, and Will feels his heart tear. He almost goes to her.

Almost.

But he there has to be boundaries, and Will's got to be the bigger man and make sure they're kept. His gaze lingers on April for a moment longer before he silently crawls beneath the sheets of his bed.

It doesn't take long for Will to hear the soft pad of April's feet tiptoeing down the hallway, and he doesn't protest as she slides under the sheets with him.

He turns to her, seeing the sheen of tears on her cheeks, and ever softly, he reaches out to wipe them away.

Maybe he's wrong, allowing them to blur the lines like this, but as he wraps his arms around April's vulnerable form, his feels a little flutter in his heart.

She collapses against him, like she's been holding a heavy burden on her shoulders that she's finally let go of, and he pulls her tiny body closer to his.

Because they need each other.

And as he holds her, it doesn't feel wrong or questionable. It doesn't even feel like the way he used to hold Terri, or the way he's imagined holding Emma.

It feels more like the way a father would hold his daughter, or the way he would comfort a best friend. Like its his job to protect her.

But mostly, he just feels complete, like that awful loneliness has finally melted away, and though they don't speak, he knows that April feels the same way.


End file.
